Captain

On the southern side of the inner Seireitei, the Thirteenth Division's new headquarters

The plot assigned to the Thirteenth Division was somewhat larger than the one Shuichi had initially chosen.

The pond and pavilion were only part of the front courtyard. Behind them lay a large open space and several half-ruined old buildings. The buildings had once belonged to estates purchased from noble families without heirs. Half the courtyard wall had collapsed, most of the roof tiles were shattered, and the pillars still bore traces of smoke and fire.

Fortunately, the timber had not completely rotted, and the main beams were still intact. With some repairs, the buildings could still be used.

Shuichi delivered the notice himself. He was not wearing a Captain's Haori, but the rose-red scabbard was highly distinctive.

He stood at the entrance to the old barracks and looked at the disheveled members of the Thirteenth Division. Then he said, "Pack your things. Prepare to move into the Seireitei."

The Squad Members looked at him without questioning anything. It was not because they trusted Shuichi, but because the other divisions were moving as well.

The news that the entire Gotei 13 would relocate into the Seireitei had already spread among the divisions.

Now that Shuichi had come to deliver the order, they followed it.

The relocation did not proceed very quickly.

There was no captain or vice-captain. The few surviving Seated Officers discussed how to divide the work: who would move the furniture, who would transport the documents, and who would be responsible for storing and handing over the Zanpakutō.

They were not very efficient, but nothing went seriously wrong.

Shuichi watched silently from the side. Sometimes he helped check the supply lists. He did not give orders, lecture anyone, or do anything beyond "helping." The Squad Members reacted blandly to his presence. They neither rejected him nor drew close to him.

Reconstruction began.

The foundations of the new headquarters had to be leveled, the old buildings repaired, the pond dredged, and the pavilion's roof tiles replaced.

The members of the Thirteenth Division split into several small groups, each handling its own work.

Shuichi focused on assisting with command, scheduling, and supply distribution, ensuring that they encountered no logistical difficulties.

No one called him "Captain." They only thought that this young man from the First Division who had come to help was quiet and steady.

However, morale within the division remained low.

They were not slacking off. They simply kept their grief buried inside, afraid to show it.

The Thirteenth Division had less than half its prewar strength. Their captain had died in battle, and familiar comrades had turned into memorial tablets one after another. Even now, they needed someone who could give them a goal—someone who could be a captain or a Seated Officer. But the Seated Officers were in no different a state than they were.

One morning, Shuichi appeared at the entrance to the headquarters wearing a Captain's Haori.

The white Haori had long, wide sleeves that swayed gently in the morning breeze. The rose-red hilt stood out sharply against the white fabric. The Haori covered the rest of the sword, revealing only the hilt guard and part of the scabbard.

His hair had grown somewhat longer than before the war, hanging over his forehead and nearly covering his eyes.

A Squad Member was crouching beside the pond, scrubbing some tools. When he looked up and saw Shuichi, his hands suddenly stopped. His eyes fixed on the white Haori, moving from the collar to the cuffs, from the cuffs to the hem, and from the lapel over Shuichi's chest to the Zanpakutō at his waist.

"Captain?"

His voice was soft, filled with disbelief and cautious probing, as if confirming that he had not mistaken the person, that he was not dreaming, and that the white Haori really was draped over this man.

Shuichi looked at him and nodded slightly.

There were no unnecessary words, no impassioned inauguration speech, no boasting about his Bankai or abilities, and no promises to commemorate or surpass Saizo Sakigane. There was only a nod—not a large motion, but a steady one.

The Squad Member rose from the ground. The instant he straightened, his back seemed a little less hunched than before. The difference was so slight that it was almost impossible to notice, but anyone working beside him would certainly feel it.

The people around him gradually stopped what they were doing. Some turned around, some raised their heads, and some looked down from the scaffolding. Every gaze fell on Shuichi's white Haori, then on his face. No one spoke, cheered, or applauded. In the silence came the realization: So the young man who had been handling their logistics all this time was their new captain?!

There was no unnecessary conversation or interaction afterward.

But the division's Squad Members clearly became more energetic and spirited.

No one said, "The new captain is here, so we have to work harder." No one admitted that they had suddenly found their motivation after seeing the white Haori.

But facts were facts. After Shuichi appeared at the headquarters entrance wearing the Captain's Haori, the Thirteenth Division's reconstruction speed increased by more than one level.

While working, they began talking to one another. At lunchtime, some sat together and shared pickles and rice balls brought from home. During breaks, some leaned against newly built walls and dozed. Some began to smile—the first relieved smiles to appear since the war.

Shin'ō Medical Institute...

When Chikiri Shijima opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the ceiling.

An unfamiliar ceiling.

He lay there with his eyes half-open. His pupils remained unfocused for a while before gradually settling again.

His breathing was light and slow. Thick bandages were wrapped around his chest beneath the blanket, running from his left shoulder to his right ribs and holding his entire chest firmly in place. Lille Barro's beam had pierced straight through his chest. The fact that he had survived was already a miracle.

His Reiatsu was still there, but extremely weak, like a lamp turned down to its lowest brightness. It was only enough to maintain his vital signs and could not even illuminate the area around him.

"Where is this...?"

The ward was enormous, larger than any room he had ever stayed in.

Sunlight slanted through the window lattice, casting a bright patch across the floor.

At the edge of the patch was a slender shadow. A vase sat on the windowsill, holding several wildflowers that someone had picked. The edges of their petals had already curled. They had probably been there for several days, and no one had changed them.

On the other side of the room stood a hospital bed identical to his own. Someone was lying in it.

Wang Tuchuan Yuxuji.

Chikiri Shijima stared at him for a long time. Wang Tuchuan did not move.

His Reiatsu was even weaker than Chikiri's. Chikiri could only determine that he was still alive.

Shijima roughly knew where they were.

The Shin'ō Medical Institute, the largest medical institution in the Seireitei, where the nobles went for treatment and where Captain-Class wounded were specifically admitted.

He had never stayed there before the war, but he had heard of it and knew the building's location and scale.

He tried to sit up with both hands.

Not long afterward

Inside Shin'ō Hall

The captains of the Gotei 13 stood on both sides of the spacious hall.

The position of the Tenth Division's captain, Wang Tuchuan Yuxuji, was empty. No one stood there.

Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto stood in the very center of the hall.

His gaze swept from left to right.

Yachiru Unohana, Shihōin Qianri, Yanyuan Jinle, Chikiri Shijima, Danjiro Obana, Furoufushi Saito, Nobutsuna Shigyo, Bakuzan Katori, Entetsu Kumenoi, Senjumaru Shutara, and Shuichi.

Eleven captains stood on either side, with Yamamoto in the middle.

"The Genji School will be reorganized into the Shin'ō Academy."

Yamamoto's voice was not loud, but the dome of Shin'ō Hall amplified every word several times, sending them echoing through the chamber like bells. "From now on, I will arrange shifts for the captains of each division to teach students at the Spiritual Arts Academy."

The hall fell silent for a moment. Then Saito's voice exploded from the line on the right. "Koya! You want me to teach students? What kind of joke is that?"

Entetsu Kumenoi's voice came from the left, calm and slow, like a stone rolling through mud. "My appearance does not seem suitable for teaching students."

He certainly looked the part. Two rows of large golden teeth showed through his lipless mouth, while his eyes were only slightly larger than fingernails and completely hidden behind a small round pair of glasses. He was also completely bald. Even with the Captain's Haori to lend him some dignity, students who were not accustomed to seeing him might not—

No one responded to Saito, nor did anyone respond to Entetsu Kumenoi.

Yachiru Unohana stood expressionlessly in formation. Shihōin Qianri stared straight ahead. The corner of Yanyuan Jinle's mouth twitched slightly, as if he were suppressing a laugh. Chikiri Shijima had only recently recovered from his serious injuries, and his complexion was poor. Danjiro Obana remained silent as well. Nobutsuna Shigyo stood with his arms crossed. Bakuzan Katori stood quietly. Senjumaru Shutara's gaze rested on the beams of Shin'ō Hall's ceiling, though it was impossible to tell whether she was measuring the building or merely spacing out.

Shuichi stood at the very end of the formation. He had not yet fully adjusted to wearing the white, long-sleeved Haori. He listened to Yamamoto announce the matter concerning the Shin'ō Academy and to Saito and Entetsu Kumenoi grumble, but he said nothing.

He did not know what to say. He was the youngest captain present, and remaining silent whenever an opinion was required was the safest course of action.

But he was thinking about what it meant to teach students at the Shin'ō Academy. He understood it more clearly than anyone else present.

Yamamoto did not answer Saito or Entetsu Kumenoi. He looked straight ahead. "The students will be recruited from Rukongai. Anyone with spiritual power may enroll."

Yamamoto's voice slowly descended through Shin'ō Hall, like a hammer striking wood, each word leaving a mark. "From this day forward, I will arrange for people to conduct recruitment."

Saito still refused to yield. "Recruit, recruit, recruit. I'm not interested in teaching students anyway!"

No one answered her, but it did not matter. Yamamoto had come to issue a notice, not to discuss it.

She glared at Yamamoto's back for several seconds, then shut her mouth. Her purple twin tails swayed before she returned to silence.

Shuichi stood at the very end of the formation. He looked at Yamamoto's figure, then at the captains standing on either side.

Sunlight slanted through the high windows, falling across the captains' white Haori and turning the entire Shin'ō Hall into a tranquil expanse of white.

After the meeting ended, the captains filed out through Shin'ō Hall's main entrance and dispersed toward the various parts of the Seireitei. Some returned to their divisions, some went on patrol, some hurried to deal with accumulated paperwork, and some simply walked quickly. Shuichi walked slowly. He left his place at the end of the line, turned, and headed toward the inner part of Shin'ō Hall. That was not the exit. It was the direction in which Yamamoto had left.

The light deep in the corridor was much dimmer than in the hall. Sunlight entered through a row of small side windows, drawing long, narrow bands of brightness across the stone floor. Dust drifted slowly in the beams. Shuichi walked through the alternating light and darkness, the hem of his white, long-sleeved Haori swaying gently with each step. The Zanpakutō on his belt lightly struck the outside of his thigh as he walked.

At the end of the corridor, Shuichi saw a figure. Chojiro Sasakibe stood before a tightly closed door. His Shihakushō was newer than it had been on the day of the funeral, but the repeated washing around his shoulders and cuffs was still visible. His silver-white hair was combed neatly, and the lenses of his glasses reflected the light from the side windows, making his eyes impossible to see. He had been waiting for Shuichi. From the moment Shuichi left the line and turned toward the inner corridor, Sasakibe had known he would come. There was no need to ask, look, or receive any confirmation.

"Vice-Captain Sasakibe."

Shuichi stopped in front of him. "I want to see the Commander-in-Chief."

"The Commander-in-Chief is resting."

Sasakibe's voice was not loud, but it was clear, like footsteps on thin ice in winter. "If you have something to say, you can tell me first."

It was neither evasion nor perfunctory dismissal. Chojiro Sasakibe's position within the Gotei 13 could not be summed up by the title of "First Division vice-captain." He was Yamamoto's most trusted man, the first executor of the Commander-in-Chief's will, and the final arbiter of matters that did not require the Commander-in-Chief to speak personally.

Shuichi hesitated for a moment.

The small windows on either side of the corridor cut the sunlight into alternating segments of brightness and shadow. The light fell across his white Haori, making the folds of its long sleeves exceptionally clear. "I haven't been a Soul Reaper for very long. I don't know how to teach students."

His voice was not loud, but the corridor was too empty. It was so empty that the echo of every word could be heard clearly. Shuichi was not being modest. He genuinely felt that he was unqualified. How long had he even been a formal Soul Reaper? How long had he been a captain?

The students recruited from Rukongai might be about his age, or even older. If he stood on the lectern and looked down at faces his age or older, what right did he have to teach them? He could not even explain how he had learned Zanjutsu. Yachiru Unohana had used him as a punching bag for ten days, and he had somehow learned through repeated beatings. He could not replicate that teaching method.

Sasakibe looked at him. He was neither moved nor annoyed by Shuichi's words. "You are already a captain."

His voice was as steady as if he were stating a physical law. "Whether it is Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Shunpo, or Kidō, or even the use of Reiatsu, you are beyond students who have not learned any of them at all."

This was not praise. It was a fact. Yachiru Unohana had personally taught Shuichi his Zanjutsu. Silver-Staff, Spider Slash, Ironstone Style, Water-Moon Style, Mist Slash, and Bone-Cut—sword styles that had been lost or severed, with no surviving inheritance even within noble families—had left indelible marks in his muscle memory.

Although his Hakuda had never received systematic training, he had been able to maneuver against a Captain-Class Quincy on the battlefield. His Shunpo was not masterful, but he had no trouble keeping pace with them. He did not use Kidō often, but he was still within the average standard.

His Reiatsu control had been taught by Yamamoto himself. More than two years of one-on-one lessons—the highest level of private instruction in Soul Society. These were not things he merely felt unworthy of. They were solid facts, carved into his bones, and no one could deny them.

Shuichi's lips parted slightly, then closed again.

"But I..." The two words caught in his throat, and he did not know what to say next.

He was indeed stronger than the students, but teaching was not simply a matter of being stronger than them. He needed to know how to teach, to have patience, to know how to break a complex movement down into its most basic steps, and to recognize what a student had done wrong and provide a way to correct it. He knew none of those things. Sasakibe seemed to read his hesitation in his silence. His tone relaxed—not becoming gentler, but slightly lifting the shell of official business.

"You only need to teach the basics. The students' graduation standard isn't the average level of a captain." Light reflected off Sasakibe's glasses, hiding his eyes, but Shuichi could feel him looking at him. It was not scrutiny, but a faint, almost reminding sort of gaze.

Shuichi thought about it. He knew the basics.

The basics of Zanjutsu were gripping the sword, swinging it, and sheathing it.

The basics of Hakuda were punching, kicking, and blocking.

The basics of Shunpo were the eruption of Reiatsu beneath one's feet.

The basics of Kidō were memorizing incantations and condensing Reiatsu.

He had learned all of those things. Although he had not studied them for long, he had learned them thoroughly.

When Yamamoto taught him Reiatsu control, he had started from the most basic spiritual particle perception and proceeded step by step without skipping any stage.

Although Unohana had never taught him any particular techniques, she had given him genuine combat experience. It had not been a battle to the death, but it had already pushed him to the brink of his limits.

The things he regarded as obvious—the instincts carved into his bones that no longer required conscious thought—were lessons the students would have to learn from the beginning. He did not need to teach them how to use Bankai, how to use Shikai, or how to control multiple Zanpakutō abilities at once. He only needed to teach them how to hold a sword without letting it slip, punch without twisting their joints, use Shunpo without falling, and release Reiatsu properly without blowing themselves up.

Shuichi raised his head and looked at Sasakibe. "Understood."

Sasakibe nodded without saying anything unnecessary. He turned and pushed open the tightly closed door behind him. Then he walked inside, and the door slowly closed behind him. Shuichi stood in the corridor, looking at the closed door for a while. Then he turned and walked back. Sunlight entered through the windows behind him, casting the shadow of his white, long-sleeved Haori onto the stone floor ahead. The shadow was long—far longer than his body—and stretched all the way into the darkness deep in the corridor.

He stepped on his own shadow and walked out of the corridor.